


Walpurgis Night

by Anika_Ann



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Awesome Wanda Maximoff, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Fluff, Light Angst, Long Shot, Protective Steve Rogers, Protective Tony Stark, Reader Insert, Supernatural Elements, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Writing Prompt, reader insert bordering with OFC, steve rogers is a sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:09:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23056765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anika_Ann/pseuds/Anika_Ann
Summary: For the once wandering eye of the former King Howard of Starkerbürg, the kingdom suffered a terrible loss.As winter blossoms into spring, the night of Walpurgis arrives and another man is chosen to bring the long-lost princess, sister to King Anthony, home. No one has ever succeeded in the task; another spring equals another life lost.Steven was not meant to be selected; he volunteered, taking another man’s place. It is up to him to set foot into the woods where myths come to life and men of the kingdom meet their death.For Star’s Followers Challenge (@star-spangled-man-with-a-plan)Prompt: Fairy Tale AU
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader, Tony Stark & Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 83
Collections: Finished will re-read





	Walpurgis Night

**Author's Note:**

> It’s not a habit of mine to inset links for music, but if anyone wishes to listen to the song responsible for this fic, it's here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nLgM1QJ3S_I  
> Also, the music video is lovely.
> 
> Happy reading!

“May the Gods lead your sword and bring you home safe, my brave lord,” the Queen pronounced as she placed a cowslip to his collar and beckoned to him to stand up.

If Steven’s heart wasn’t beating its way out of his chest with a barely contained restlessness, he would have chuckled bitterly. ‘ _Lord.’_ As if he was anything but a peasant, as if his life had any value to the King or the Queen; and yet, Queen Virginia’s gaze rested upon him and observed him with sorrow; as if he mattered to her.

As if she regretted her husband’s madness, one he had inherited from his father.

King Howard, passing away last winter, had never bothered hiding his wandering eye. Queen Maria, his beloved wife, had graciously tolerated her husband’s predilection for other women, seeing as he never acted upon it. Many ladies of the court had found themselves blessed when the King decided to spent an evening in their company; although never left alone with his highness, never granted even a gleam of hope of being taken as a lover, they cherished their moments with him and held no grudges.

However, an exception to the rule had always solidified its validity.

One of the King’s chosen companions had fallen for him, refusing offers of marriage which had been not scarce as she had foolish faith in king’s short-lived attraction. She – and her name could never be spoken in the land of Starks ever again, one of the most serious offences punished by death – deluded herself into believing he would leave the Queen, blind to the deep affection shared between her sovereigns. Oblivious until the second royal child was born.

The Princess, barely days old, went missing overnight, the very night of Walpurgis, when the powers of evil were believed to be most potent. With the ringing of tower bells, the King’s Guard saw to find the heiress to the crown.

Before the night was over, all they discovered was a laughing woman, having gone mad with heartbreak.

_“You took everything from me,” she spluttered, spitting on king’s shoes as she had been forced to her knees, hands restrained; eyes teary and yet smiling. “Now you shall know how that feels.”_

The woman had laughed and laughed as she burned at the stake, crying tears of joy at king’s torment. She had carried away the baby to the woods; left it for the malicious intentions of fauns, elves, dryads, nymphs, hulders and witches, all the evil spirits from myths much truer than prophesies read from the stars.

The Princess was lost ever since.

Steven had only learned this history from his mother’s narrative (Gods may grant her peace in afterlife) and from rumours spreading all over the Stark’s lands.

How could it not still be spoken of?

Every Walpurgis Eve, the night of the evil spirits’ power ruling and yet assumed to be most vulnerable, a brave man would rise and offer his service to the King, attempting to save the Princess from the claws of darkness.

Every morning after, all that was left of him was his armour; king’s armour, the finest quality, abandoned. With each life lost, the King turned more furious; with every life laid down, fewer and fewer lords were willing to meet their certain death.

Thieves and tavern brawlers were dragged to the edge of forest in their place, meeting the same fate; death cared little for nobility and wealth, greedily hoarding all souls offered.

Steven was no thief, had never _been_ _caught_ in a middle of a brawl. However, Pietro, the brother to Wanda, born moments apart from her as their mother left them before they were blessed enough to meet her, had not been as fortunate.

While King Antony had promised to end the never-ending madness of his father once he would inherit the crown, swearing that no other man would be coerced to try and complete an impossible task (as the people of Starkerbürg whispered of the Princess being long dead, eaten by wolves or the forest spirits), the day had come and he had chosen another innocent soul.

No amount of cries from the broken woman, who had no family left but her twin brother, had mollified the King. He himself had lost his mother to grief, his father to illness _and_ his sister to pointless vengeance; why should he care for compassion when he could hold onto the senseless hope instead?

Steven could no longer watch the tragedy unfolding in front of him, less so having met the twins before. He had stepped forward and took Pietro’s place.

Steven had no family of his own, not anymore, not yet; not for the lack of sudden interest from women who had never as much as spent him a glance only few winters prior when he had been fighting all illnesses the kingdom had ever suffered. His mother had worked tooth and nail to keep him alive; and Steven wished to find himself a mate just as loving, not a fickle female who turned around for the man most impressive at given time.

Perhaps he was abandoning that foolish dream for his very recent actions. Perhaps, he wouldn’t live long enough to meet such kind soul who would care little whether his body was a fragile vessel (which it used to be) or as strong as a horse.

In the end, Steven had nothing to fear, barely anything to lose. Should he fail, he might encounter his father who had offered for the similar task many years ago.

Men had been laying down their lives, involuntarily. Steven was willing to do so if he could spare the poor Wanda suffering and gift her the life of her brother. If there had been one thing Steven craved more than a beautiful loving wife of a kind heart, it was him being a good man.

Returning to the present, Steven rose as the Queen had commanded, his fingers deliberately brushing over the yellow flower nestled in his collar. A cowslip; for protection from evil spirits. The castle, the towns, the villages… they were flooded with cowslips these days, fires lit long before sunset. The whole land feared the creatures of the forest.

His mother had always warned him from them, keeping the fate her husband had met in mind.

Sarah, Steven’s beloved mother who had worked herself to an early grave to put as much as a bread crust to his mouth, would have cried her eyes out if she learned her son was being foolish, coming voluntarily; her heart would have shattered with sorrow. Her heart would have burst with pride had she learned he had done it to save another man’s life.

With peace in mind Steven bowed to Queen Virginia and King Anthony once more before turning away. The Queen’s sorrowful eyes followed him as the crowd parted, forming an aisle for him to walk through; gracelessly stepping aside so he may walk towards his death.

A small hand curled around his wrist, forcing him to halt and meet a pair of familiar emerald eyes.

“Natalia,” he granted her with a reassuring smile and she sprang towards him from James’ side, throwing her arms around him in an unladylike manner, losing nothing of the warmth of her gesture.

“Steven. Trust nothing you see,” she warned him with a knowing glint in her eye, worry for her dear friend creasing the elegant arches of her brows.

Steven stiffened, taken aback by both her heartfelt assault and her words. He gently squeezed her waist, wary of letting people see their affection. She was to wed soon, to his best friend no less. James understood, however the people of the court and other commoners like himself might not.

“I shall return to you all, Natalia. Worry for me not,” he whispered, allowing her to slip from his arms, nodding at his friend who reciprocated the gesture, patting his shoulder covered in expensive cloak.

“Don’t do anything foolish, brother.”

Natalia shook her head, tight-lipped smile on her face, brief and too weak for anyone to believe that she had that much faith in him.

It wounded Steven, yes, but feeble-minded he was not. The truth was merciless; not one man had ever returned from the path he was about to set foot on. _Not a single one._

“You _are_ a fool,” Natalia lamented, her palm tenderly laid on his chest, as if she could feel his heartbeat under the many layers covering his torso, including the thick chainmail. “May the Gods protect you, Steven. Be careful.”

He nodded, only having taken a single step aside when another person appeared in his path.

Wanda. The _sister_. Realization dawned to Steven, for the first time since the unfortunate morning of Pietro being chosen, that she had barely reached the age of a woman, rather being a child still. Bending down to her as her frame seemed even smaller than usual, her thin shoulders scrunched in guilt, Steven could see clearly her tears-stained face.

Her petite hands, cold to touch and trembling, wrapped around his left one, watery eyes looking up at him. Steven didn’t hesitate to give her a smile, to assure her that she owed him nothing for taking her brother’s place.

The redhead didn’t seem to agree, seeing as her skirts swirled and she fell to her knees right in front of him in a gesture of subservience.

“My la-“ he exclaimed, alarmed, more so when she turned his hand in hers, her lips hovering above his leather-cladded palm, another sign of inferiority to him, leaving him horrified. Overtaken by shock, rendered speechless, he only observed as she took his other hand and repeated her action, clinging onto him like onto a dear life.

Only when she raised her teary eyes to him, he shook himself at last and kneeled to her level, regardless of the mud staining his attire. She had clearly cared not for her skirts either as the plain dress she was wearing were now soaked in dirt.

“My lady, _Wanda-”_

Her lips quivered, tears rolling down her pale cheeks as she released his hand and reached to the curve of her nape, unfastening a thin chain carrying a pendent.

Breath caught in Steven’s throat when she handed it to him without hesitation, curling her tiny fingers around his before he could even consider giving it back. Her whisper, peculiarly deep and so quiet he had to strain his ears to hear it, resonated in his soul, her gaze trapping him.

_“Shall the kindness of your heart  
be your lifeline in the dark.  
May it shine and keep you warm,  
perish not its honest spark.”_

Mesmerized by a red gleam which Steven would swear he saw burning in her eyes for the shortest of moments, he nearly missed the flicker of fire running through his veins.

Mind foggy, he blinked quite frantically to clear his vision. Wanda’s eyes welcomed him with their inviting brightness, her hands squeezing his. The illusion of the flame disappeared.

Snapping from his trance, Steven got a hold of her forearms and assisted her in standing up to her full height. She appeared unbothered by the state of her clothing, her gaze never leaving his face, focused and sincere.

“Blessed be your kind soul, son of Joseph,” Wanda whispered, voice as soft as her grateful smile.

Steven, feeling a strange tingle in his fingertips, at the base of his spine and in his very core, only nodded, his father’s name echoing in his ears. How had she heard of his father? How did she know?

Sensing the eyes of all onlookers on them, he swallowed his confusion and the unfamiliar feeling coursing through his veins and finally continued walking, the crowd closing behind him like sea. He readjusted the sword in its scabbard, the shield – a gift from the King himself for every man marching to find his own end in the woods – sitting heavy on the straps on his back.

The pendent from Wanda burned in his palm and so he secured it around his neck, hoping he would bring the precious piece of jewellery back to her.

Unknown to him, Wanda’s eyes followed him with content, an inconspicuous watery smile on her lips, a knowing glint in her eye as her brother placed a hand on her shoulder, pulling her into an embrace.

The glittering aura, now glowing bright due to her little enchantment, drawing sights of all powered creatures, just might mollify the spirits of the woods and cause them to spare Steven’s life as they never wished to harm a man of a pure heart.

The sun was nearly at the end of its path behind horizon when Steven walked through the city gate.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Steven couldn’t recall how he had found himself in this place of magic. His feet had led him of their own accord, the fire of his torch long gone; an absence barely acknowledged as the moonlight was shining bright, illuminating the scene unfolding in front of him.

A meadow soaked in silver, serene and yet bursting with life, laughter and music, men-like half-goat creatures romping in the middle, a circle of dancing women-- beautiful, _beautiful_ women, light on their feet, nearly floating, their modest white clothing swirling with each movement---so exquisite that Steven forgot how to breathe, all coherent thought leaving his mind as his eyes remained hypnotized by the grace and joy of the dreamlike goddesses.

Laughing, voices as hundreds of tiny bells, two of the stunning women turned their head, spotting his lone figure standing motionless between the trees. Eyes sparkling, they sprung forward, bare feet barely touching the ground as they twirled around him, delicate fingers tracing the lines of his wide shoulders and his heart fluttered and begun to hum an ancient song he had never been taught and yet he knew.

His cloak pooled on the ground by his feet as their quick fingers unclasped the buckle and Steven was overtaken by gratitude, for the cloak had been weighting him down, a superfluous piece of heavy cloth, too warm, standing in the way of their pleasant touch—the chainmail was lost next, having him bound, suffocated---he only had the mindfulness of the precious doves to thank to for freeing him of his burdens.

His sword long abandoned beside the shield and his dagger, their giggle echoed in the open space, whispered back by the lindens and oaks, as they aided him to lose his boots too, those shackles preventing him from joining their joyful dance.

Both of the goddesses interlaced her fingers with his, pulling him into the whirl and twirl, his heart light and overflowing with happiness unknown until that very moment.

The sheer beauty of his female companions would have been enough to bring him to his knees, already growing weak from exhaustion; the delicate lines of their physique, hair he would serenade for its softness, lips lush, begging to be tasted, eyes sparkling with life—and one pair of the most dazzling eyes glassy with unshed tears, smiling, yet heavy with sorrow, never leaving his frame, never shying away from his fascinated gaze, her own boring into his very soul and weeping for it.

Steven truly ceased to breathe and his heart rose to the moon and stars themselves when she broke the circle and reached out to him the exact moment his legs gave out under a sudden wave of dizziness. Steven succeeded at staying on his feet only for her and the brief hint of a smile on her tempting lips.

Then, this incarnation of the goddess of beauty herself was drawn back to her place as the dancing and singing went on, weariness settling deep in Steven’s body. Too frantic, too swirly, too noisy—too little breaths, too little beats of his heart, his feet too slow, not even hoping to match the swift and elegant movements of his dance partners.

Glancing at the stunning woman-like creature following him with her mournful gaze, Steven had been offered a sight of her tears. His heart ached for he saw her sadness; he wished to dry the salty droplets, to wipe them with the pad of his thumb, to kiss them away-- but his hands were trapped in strong grips of his companions, not allowing him to as much as budge.

Darkness edged his vision and more and more tears escaped the wells of her eyes. Before Steven realized what was to happen, his worn feet tangled and he collapsed to the ground, grass and moss soft and damp under his cheek.

The music and singing didn’t cease, the circle simply shifting few feet away so his heavy body wouldn’t be in the way of the ancient dance, old as time itself.

Steven’s vision blurred; the last thing he felt before his mind abandoned the feast of the forest spirits was the woman – for whose smile to see he would both kill and die – cupping his cheek.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

From the moment the sunrays ceased to paint the sky in warm colours, your heart appeared to be called out by a presence unknown to you until tonight.

Tonight--oh, the precious night, the dreaded night, as every year, a man would appear in the middle of the celebration of the gods and joined your circle, only to leave it before the fire could even begin to be lit.

 _Too weak,_ your sisters always whispered, dismissing the human as a lesser being, consumed by the feast, the most cherished night of the year.

 _It is to be as the Gods wish,_ they would laugh, pulling you back to the circle, the dance swift to take up all of your attention.

 _It is as it was meant to be,_ they would assure you as another soul left its vessel by the dawn, their elegant fingers scattering cowslips all over the cold body, enchantment whispered in deep voices resonating in your very soul, until the corpse was swallowed by the sacred ground.

You’d only contribute by tears, watering the earth with salt and sorrow, until your sisters – in soul, not blood – would hold your hands, tugging you to join them in collecting the sweetest dew, healing all plant life and animals, the magic of the previous night persisting in its droplets.

And as day blended into night and night into another day and night—you’d be soothed by the beautiful circle of life, for until the Walpurgis Night crept in anew and the history would repeat itself.

But tonight, _oh, tonight, Gods bless this night and curse it-! Let it never end—_ for that the man who had appeared this night was too good, too beautiful, his presence blissful and warming, radiant, his kindness as if glowing through his whole being--- basking in his light alone brought tears of delight to your eyes—turning to ones of sorrow and terror when your sisters pulled him into your dance, a dance macabre for every ordinary human being.

Every human being; except you. Mother’s magic sheltered you, keeping you safe, but oh, _oh,_ if _he_ was to die, then who were you to live--

His eyes barely ever left you, as if he could hear the trees whispering it was you, it was on your conscience; pointing their barky fingers at you, they accused you of every life lost and the truth they revealed. All the men, they had been seeking you, seeing to bring you to the castle where you had been stolen from and then left to die.

 _They don’t deserve you, Findling._ _You are ours to protect, ours to love. Don’t you love us too? Have we not given you home? You are safer in the forest than with them; they gave you up before._

And the truth they spoke too, your sisters; here you were welcomed. Only Gods withheld the secret of what would await you in the city. It could be death for all you had learned.

And did you not belong here?

Were you not grateful enough to stay?

Not tonight-- oh, _tonight_ , you wished to leave, to redeem the kind soul trapped in the claws of death, ugly claws slowly dragging him away since the moment his strong body found its nest on the forest floor.

Breaking the circle was an offence, the greatest; yet, your heart begged you to do so, to hasten to kneel by the handsome and the oh, _oh so good_ stranger, your fingers tracing his lovely features, gazing into his eyes – the colour of the sky meeting a glassy surface of the lake – watching you intently until they fell close.

Tears dampened your cheeks, the swirl and twirl of the wind and dance cooling them down, but only vainly hoping to sooth the burn in your heart, the pounding ache.

Your sisters let you, finishing their gift to the Gods, the exquisite dance of life and only then, Aeliana kneeled beside you, fingers curling around your wrist and pulling you away, your handsome stranger remaining motionless aside from shallow breaths, thin clothing over his body and nothing else; he had discarded it all, left at the mercy to the cold of the night. Just like every man before.

“Come, Findling, leave the fellow to his fate.”

Your feet moved unwillingly, step after step building a distance from him, your head spinning from the ache squeezing your chest.

Could she not see?

“He’s of such kind heart, sister. Should we not spare him? Do we not protect kind men from harm?” you queried, interceding on his behalf.

Such a handsome man he was. And his soul, so gentle-

“Kind as he might be, he shall meet the fate the Gods have prepared for him. Come now, little Findling, the fire is to be lit soon!”

Your vessel heavier than you remembered, you followed her back to the gyration of joy, sparing your stranger one more longing glance.

 _“May the Gods protect you for you are already dear to me,”_ you prayed for him, having no power similar to your sisters to keep him safe, your words nothing but simple sound. _“May the Gods protect you.”_

_And should they not, then I will._

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Cold seeping into his bones was the cause of a rude awakening; his fingers and his toes hurting, a biting coolness blended into pain with how insistently it clawed at him.

A shudder shook his whole frame and for several moments, as he walked the thin line between wakefulness and the bliss of a dream, Steven remembered how he had once believed that the sensation would be everlasting. He thought so every winter, when due to ever-present cold, his weak body suffered from the illness with ferocity unknown to stronger men.

He grew up strong and healthy, yet the memories of icy cold remained, a reminder of how he had to be grateful for every little blessing in life. Steven didn’t recall feeling such cold for few winters now, certainly not when welcoming a new day; and a new day it was, the sun, lacking its summer warmth still, danced behind his closed eyelids.

A weight on his chest wasn’t feeling any more familiar, far from the sensation his covers ever offered and that, more than anything, caused him to open his eyes.

Steven was welcomed by green; a green of the meadow, a green of the lindens and oaks and… and a fading green of a wreath resting on the head of the sweetest creature lying – to his profound astonishment – on his chest.

His heart sang as he recognized her soft features at instant.

It was _her_. The beautiful woman with the mesmerizing regretful eyes was sleeping on his chest, covered in droplets of dew, sparkling in her hair and in the withered flowers of her wreath, causing her to look even more ethereal than the night before. She felt a warm feather-light weight on him despite the see-through spiderweb-thin fabric, only so-so covering her fragile body in places where Steven’s eyes shouldn’t even wander if he was to remain proper.

He observed her, perplexed and grateful to Gods; what for he wasn’t certain yet. For letting her live?

She appeared so dream-like, so fragile, yet her body kept its warmth as if not affected by the freezing cold biting into Steven’s own skin. He would have thought he had been the one to protect her from freezing to death; and yet somehow, it appeared as if it was the exact opposite. When he swallowed against the lump forming in his throat and found courage to trace the pads of his fingers over her bare arm, her skin felt soft and warm, unlike his.

The breathing weight on him shifted at his daring touch and Steven would have regretted disturbing her sleep hadn’t it been for her luscious lips parting, her small hand over his heart flexing in his shirt, the tinniest movement sending a strand of her hair tickling his face and wrapping him in a heady flowery scent.

Hadn’t he been lost to her the night before, he would have given her his heart the very moment her eyes fluttered open, thick eyelashes calling for attention, framing a pair of the most mesmerizing irises he had even seen.

Hours could fly by and Steven wouldn’t have noticed; not when her gaze lingered on his face, locked with his and then… then she smiled, a wide and yet soft curve of her lips and Steven, who might have suffered from cold gnawing his body only a moment before, felt his heart _melt;_ wondering what had he done to be blessed by the Gods guiding this stunning fairy into his arms.

“You are to live,” her voice caressed him and his hand acted at its own will, curling around the smooth arm it had stroked earlier.

Only then, her words rang in his ears, their meaning, and he couldn’t but reciprocate her smile. A complete fool he was not; he had a solid ground for believing she was the very reason he was still breathing. All of his predecessors had caught their death, only for their armour and clothing to be discovered untouched; seeing as he had apparently shed his own as well, he hadn’t been meant to survive.

The stunning beauty on his chest had saved him from freezing to death. 

“Yes, my beautiful fairy. I feel like I have you to thank to for such blessing,” Steven whispered reverently, his heart swelling in his chest. What had led her to such action? Why had she protected him? And how was she not freezing? Was it her magic? “How is it you are not cold yourself?”

Seemingly unbothered by his touch, she brought her palm to cup his bearded cheek, as she had the night before. “It’s a gift, one of many from mo-- oh Goddess, you must go, now-!”

Ignorant to the dread in her eyes, Steven revelled in her tender touch, nearly crying out when she withdrew and went to stood up in one graceful motion.

“Fairy mine, of what-“

“You must leave! Surely Mother would be furious to see I have not left you for death to take! Go, _run-“_

At her words, Steven’s brows furrowed. He did not want the woman’s mother to be angry with her for she had helped him. Climbing to his feet, bare toes stiffened and almost blue, he barely found his footing. His suddenly fearful fairy took his hand and guided him to where he had left his attire.

“Hurry-"

Steven’s body listened, his fingers, slightly numb from the cold, reaching for his chainmail and cloak; yet, his eyes remained fixed on her, basking in the light of her presence. She truly was exquisite; for all she had been breath-taking in the moonlight, in daylight she glowed brighter than the sun.

“What may I call you, fairy mine?”

Her delicate hands, frantically aiding him with his cloak, ceased their movements, resting on his shoulders as she looked up at his face and while confused, she replied with a gentle shook of her head, sending her silky hair sliding down her shoulders.

“I do not have a name. Mother and sisters call me _Findling_. It is of old language, it stands for a-“

 _“- foundling,”_ Steven stole the last word from her lips, astonished. At that moment, he could be knocked out with a feather. She was-- his beautiful savoir, his stunning fairy--- his hands rose to her cheek to caress the skin, impossibly warm given her modest clothing.

She truly was still alive. The long-lost princess, believed to be dead for years by nearly everyone… was still breathing, a tragically forfeit daughter growing into a beautiful woman with a heart of gold.

Her eyelashes fluttered, shy gaze lowering to the sacred ground.

“You’re human,” slipped past Steven’s parted lips and her features, already tender, softened as she elevated her gaze, irises deep as a sea and sorrowful for whichever cause.

“Yes.”

“I found you—no, _you_ found me. You are--- come with me-!”

As if a lightning struck her very being, she slid from his grasp and retreated several steps, heading towards the trees. Without hesitation, Steven followed her light footsteps.

“We must go. You must leave the forest before the wrath of Mother finds you,” she said, voice carrying nothing of its earlier softness.

Steven mourned its loss; his strides much longer than hers, he stooped in her path and carefully took a hold of her wrists. She appeared agitated now, frustrated that he was thawing her plan to lead him to safety as quickly as she could.

He cradled her jaw then, seeing as she halted in her steps despite her indignation. Even angered, she was the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes on.

“Why wouldn’t you come to the castle with me? Your family mourns you,” he whispered, his thumb stroking her cheek unwittingly. “And I-I--“

 _I can’t even think of not seeing you again._ _Your smile._ Gods, _your smile…_

Lost to the emotions swirling in her eyes, dancing across her features, a sudden thunderclap snapped them from their intimate conversation, practically causing his heart to stop in fright.

Steven instinctively stepped between her and where the noise had emitted from; the menacing sound had not been sent from the sky, he was certain of it as the sun still illuminated both him and the Princess.

“Mother,” his fairy whispered fearfully, easily slipping between Steven and the woman-like creature materializing between the trees, only few steps from them.

Steven liked little what his beautiful foundling had done for he was supposed to be the one to protect her. However, he could barely deny that he stood no chance against the Goddess, the _Mother._ His muscles could not even hope to compare to her magic; and could he feel it, the power crackling like a lightning in the air, a premonition of a death sentence.

Before Steven could as much as speak a single word, his fierce defender fell to her knees, head bowed in submission to her judge and jury.

“Mother, please, punish me for my insolence, for my felony—but harm him not. He is nothing but an innocent soul, too good to-“ she pleaded frantically, voice honest and trembling, striking Steven right in his heart, causing his chest to tighten.

His stunning fairy, the kindness incarnated, begged for his life.

No hesitation. No remorse. No care for her own well-being.

“No!” Steven blurted out, sidestepping her, only to freeze in his tracks when the Mother raised her hand, commanding him to stop without uttering a word.

Stunned, Steven didn’t dare to speak more, to move an inch; the creature carried herself a Goddess indeed, the Queen of the woods, the sovereign of magic itself. Purple and red twirled in her eyes, strict and yet somewhat kind, _powerful._ She walked measuredly to the pair of them, her outstretched hand slowly falling until she could reach the precious fairy, palm laying down on her head, caressing her hair, sliding lower until she forced her to raise her chin.

Then, the Mother smiled a gracious smile, seeing her _daughter’s_ tears, tears which made Steven’s ribcage ache. She spoke in a voice deep enough to touch Steven’s soul, mighty and yet gentle.

“Did you believe I would punish you, Findling?” she questioned, sorrowfully almost. “For the love you carry in your soul, your kindness to strangers whose good heart you see even without ability to match ours? No, my sweet child. But you shall be reminded of the warning.”

Steven stiffened further. What _warning?_ Was a punishment still to be carried out? In contrary to her words- he could _not_ let that happen, not to _his little fairy_ he had only just found--

As if sensing his outrage, as if reading his thoughts – and for the briefest of moments, Steven wondered if the powerful creature possessed such ability –, she levelled her gaze with his, one corners of her lips twirling, her smile turning into something resembling a smirk.

“Be at ease, soldier, I do not wish to harm her, quite the opposite. We have her wellbeing in our hearts always,” she assured him, an army of women, _actual_ fairies, appearing behind her back out of thin air, side by side, serene and beautiful. “You think us savages, son of Joseph. We are not. We would never abandon a child, crying and starving in the woods, left to die. Certainly not for a twisted vendetta.”

Struck by genuine surprise at both the sudden emerge of the ethereal creatures and the Mother’s words, Steven couldn’t let out a sound. He was rendered speechless, overtaken by the memory of Wanda addressing him the very name the Mother had, similar magic reflecting in her eyes.

What did it mean? What—how-

“If I should leave…” the former princess whispered, rising to her feet for her sovereign, only to be interrupted.

“You lose our protection, yes. You shall be an ordinary human again. Short of the joys our life brings.”

Steven found himself utterly lost in their conversation, a hunch nudging at his mind, an inkling of what the Goddess could mean by her words, painting a picture in his head he couldn’t quite grasp. Like a fool, he only observed the scene unfolding in front of him, feeling useless and ashamed for his inability to as much as move an inch.

“Thank you, Mother. Sisters,” his fairy bowed with a smile on her lips and tears sparkling in her eyes. “You have been kind to me. A true family. Perhaps the time has come for me to leave.”

The Mother smiled at her kindly, nodding and taking her hand between both of hers, squeezing gently.

“May your life rest in the hands of the good man tasked to bring you to your birthplace and tear you away from where you had found home.”

“May I… visit?” the Princess asked shyly, rewarded with a chorus of chuckles, thousands of tiny bells ringing in fine tune.

“You may always find a home with us shall you ever feel the desire.”

“I shall,” she echoed and turned to the awe-struck Steven, her shining eyes finding his gaze. “Shall we be on our way?”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Your feet were on the verge of giving out; unfamiliar with the cold biting into your skin, every step a rough sensation, every branch and stolon hurting, each thorn felt like a dagger in your soles.

And yet… your body was floating, a hand, gentle fingers, curled firmly around yours; you had lost sense of who was leading who. It was you and then it was him, it was a dance you had never knew and it had your breath caught in your chest; slightly painful, endlessly blissful.

The absence of words bothered you not. The chime of the birds and the whispers of trees carried a lovely tune and all was well.

“What will happen to you?” he asked, your handsome stranger, the kind soul calling out to yours since before your first encounter. “What was the… Goddess talking about?”

Moved by his concern for you, a brief smile passed your lips. You did not have the heart to tell him of the sensations, so human, yet unknown to you. You could sense it already, a true weariness – and finally, the vivacity too. You were nothing but a human again, the protective spell, casted upon you to keep you from harm commonly deadly to ordinary men, fading.

“Oh, Mother? Do not wear your head, I shall be quite alright,” you assured him and he, the sweet man he was, raised your hand to his face, caressing its back with his lips ever so softly.

“It is my duty to wear my head for you, fairy mine…”

His duty was it not. A heart-warming sentiment? Certainly. Your smile widened, a hiss escaping your lips only a moment later.

A sharp pain cut through your sole again, a shiver running through your whole being.

Cold and pain; your life from now on.

Faster than you could hope to comprehend, your companion stopped in his tracks, kneeling in front of you, tender and rough fingers examining your left foot; to your astonishment, a red liquid stained your cold skin, thick and heady. Blood. You had never bled before.

Genuine worry creased his forehead, his bright eyes looking up at your face as your teeth sunk into your lower lip; partly to cover your pain, partly from guilt as he observed you with tender accusation.

Pulling out a knife, he released your shaky foot in order to cut off a band of fabric from his thick cloak, swift fingers wrapping it around your wound.

“Thank-- thank you,” you stuttered, taken aback by the strange sensation of the cloth against your skin, your world swaying to side for a bit. You were bleeding, the fluid of life leaving your veins. _So strange._

He shook his head, rising to his full height; a peculiar thrill it gave you, tilting your head back to maintain eye-contact. Mesmerized by the colour of his irises, you barely noticed he stripped the cloak, securing it over your bare shoulders.

Before you could utter a word of protest, he scooped you into his strong arms, cradling you as if you belonged there and nowhere else. A feeling of infinite rightness overwhelmed you, nearly rendering you speechless.

“Oh no, put me down. It only is a brief faintness and pain-“

Securing you in his hold as if he had not heard you, his embrace grew firmer and looked into your eyes with gravity.

“You are not to walk barefoot, let alone on such cold morning, in the woods no less,” he argued, his hands warm against your unusually cold skin, his fingers caressing you and effectively causing words to get stuck in your throat. Taking a notice of your sudden speechlessness, he smiled. “Rest, little fairy. I will protect you.”

“I am not a fairy, son of Jo-“

“Steven. You should call me _Steven,_ shall you be willing.”

As delighted as you were to learn his name at last, your concern remained unshaken.

“You will tire yourself… Steven.”

Swallowing the peculiar sensation of thrill his name created on your tongue, you busied yourself with the matter of his wellbeing. He soon would exhaust himself should he carry you. Surely, he must know that? He was strong, yes, an impressive mass of a man, shoulders which could carry the weight of the world and the curses of all Gods shall it come to it… but-

“With what, my sweetness?” he questioned lightly and began to walk. “You barely weight more than a feather. And you do appear a fairy to me. Beautiful. Ethereal. Like a fairy from the tales told to the good children so they would dream a sweet dream.”

Charmed by the compliments, your heart felt like it grew in size, filling your chest with each beat, sweet and dizzying. Uncertain how to show your gratitude and favour, you reached out. Your palm cupped Steven’s jaw, a touch featherlight indeed.

His breath caught in his chest and for a moment, you worried you must have done something which was not to his liking. But then, he nuzzled your palm, eyelids falling shut, a soft smile painted on his lips and you understood you had merely surprised him by your actions.

“You are too good to me, Steven.“

“Oh, my sweet fairy… you are too. Know, I would lay down my life for you this instant if you asked me to.”

An uncomfortable lump grew in your throat at such admission, tears stinging in your eyes as you thought of how little would suffice for him to meet his death for you, only the night prior.

“I would never ask. So many have lost their lives for me… I am feeling the deepest regret-“ you sobbed and his arms wound around you tighter as if shielding you from grief and regret weighing both your heart and conscience.

“It is not for you to blame yourself for what your father has done to find you.“

“Steven-“

His lips—oh Gods, his lips, warm and tender, brushed your palm still laid on his jaw, then proceeded to your forehead, warm breath caressing your hair. You lost your voice at the affection gifted to you, a single silent tear rolling down your cheek.

“Oh, sweetness, my name on your lips is like music…” he whispered, voice low and thick with emotion that sent a shiver – this time somehow pleasant – down your spine. “Lay your head down now, fairy mine. We have a journey ahead of ourselves still. I shall watch over your sleep like you have watched over mine.”

Your hand hesitantly slid from his neck, settling on his chest, his strong and _oh so kind_ heart humming under your palm. Obediently you laid your head into the crook of his neck, a scent unknown but pleasant curling around you, causing your head to spin.

You closed your eyes and laid your life into the hands of the good man who had come to bring you back where you had been born; precisely as Mother had said.

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

He had been greeted with delighted shouts full of excitement and surprise, people dropping whatever had they had on their hands only to follow him as he had carried his fairy, the Princess, to the castle, to her family.

The King and the Queen had been spending over a day with the long-lost princess, agreeing she truly was who she was, while Steven had been treated like a knight, provided with luxury unknown to him, luxury he found unnecessary; yet, who he was to refuse and offend the hospitability? Especially should it outrage the King?

Facing King Anthony now, he was asked to rise from his knee as he was promised to receive the greatest honours, enough food and money for a lifetime and a place at King’s Guard.

“You have done my kingdom an inestimable service, Steven. What else do you ask? Say the word and your wish should be granted,” the King of Starkerbürg offered generously, gesturing to encourage him to speak his mind.

And Steven wondered.

What could a man wish for? What more than he had been offered? For the people he loved to be treated in the same manner? Certainly, he could demand that? To give his friends a wedding they deserved, to ensure they would never have to worry about a place to lay down their heads, about feeding their children and themselves?

As his mind wandered to his friends, so deeply in love, he couldn’t but think of the Princess, of his beautiful, precious fairy. Oh, how had he already missed her, not having seen her for two days almost. His heart ached for her smile, for her soft touch.

However, a fool he was not. Asking for her hand would be unacceptable. The King would never allow it for Steven was nothing still; the King would never agree to wed a potential heiress to anyone but a lord, a prince of another land perhaps. Steven would be not surprised should the King already set plans in motion to offer her hand to his friend, Prince Thor of Asgard.

Steven couldn’t even dare to ask for what an insolence- a laughable demand would it be.

Swallowing his grief at that, his heart torn, a gaping wound in his chest, he asked for a fraction of what he desired. What more could he wish for that for being allowed to bask in her presence at least? Watching her afar, yes, but perhaps… he could speak a word with her, from time to time-

“My King… I—”

“Yes, Steven, please. Speak. I am listening,” King Anthony hurried him, short of impatient.

Shy and bold at the same time, Steven could barely raise his voice enough to be heard.

“Shall the Princess ever agree to it when she is recovered… may I—may I speak with her again?”

The crease forming on the King’s forehead meant nothing good and Steven stiffened, instantly scolding himself.

 _A fool!_ Natalia always told him he was one. _The most foolish of all fools!_

“Of what could you possibly speak with her? What motivation could you have? Perhaps… why should she ever as much as look at you, Steven?”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Steven lost all will to speak as his voice betrayed him. He shook his head in defeat.

“Oh no, please. Do enlighten me,” the King continued, slowly rising from his seat, towering above Steven due to the three steps which led to the throne.

Steven bowed, shaking his head again. “Forgive me, my King. I should never have asked such a daring question-“

“Oh no, colour me curious, I would like to know what you have to say to me to this matter.”

“My King, I do apologize, I—I-“

A suffocating silence fell on the Royal Hall when Steven trailed off, tension heavy and menacing as he could sense the realization dawning to his King.

 _A complete fool, Steven._ For all he survived the journey to the woods, he returned only to be beheaded by the King for a moment of rash boldness. _A damn half-wit!_

A gasp left the King’s lips and Steven clenched his jaw, hanging his head, awaiting his sentence.

Blood pounded in Steven’s temples, growing in intensity with each moment no words were spoken.

Two sharp claps of hands, as loud as a thunder in the empty hall, bounced off the walls instead and a rustling of chainmail instantly followed, heavy boots rushing to King’s aid.

Without much decorum, brute force knocked Steven down to his knees, a sharp pain jolting up his joints as they dug into the hard floor, one pair of firm hands pushing him down, another grabbing his wrists to keep them locked behind his back.

“Gods protect us from minds as feeble as yours,” King Anthony snarled, awe-struck and outraged all the same.

A pang of longing gnawed at Steve’s heart as his suspicions were confirmed. While the indignation at being thought of as of a lesser human being flared in his chest, the injustice nothing short of irritating, he didn’t utter a word. A harsh hand gripped his jaw, yanking it upward, forcing him to look into King’s eyes where rage twirled with contempt.

“You foolish nitwit! How could you even think I would _ever_ allow you to—to WHAT? Court her? Gods forbid _wed_ her?! To put your—your _filthy hands_ on her?! Oh my, _MY!_ You will _not_ as much as LOOK at her ever again, you UNDERSTAND?! _Gods-_ you--- you- TAKE HIM! Dungeon! _Right this instant! You fool, you scum, you PERV!!_ Get him off my sight-!”

Yanked up without fight on his side – because truly, what the point would be, he was in the castle, he wouldn’t escape the many men of King’s Guard –, Steven was dragged away, meeting the raged glare of the King for the shortest of moments. King’s much obvious disgust hurt, but not nearly as much as the thought of never seeing her again.

_His beautiful, ethereal fairy._

Because he would never as much as get a glimpse of her ever again--- or perhaps he would, at his own execution? The King would make a huge spectacle of it, he was sure-

The heavy door to the hall were pushed open, Queen Virginia walking through them gracefully, the guards only bowing their heads frantically before they proceeded to tug Steven away.

Steven’s heart ceased to beat when his eyes fell on her; no, not the Queen, but her companion; and then it started singing, bliss and delight at his wish being granted not by the King, then by the Gods themselves.

She carried herself as light as she had when he had seen her the first time, the night of Walpurgis, shining brighter than the moonlight, than the sun itself, as exquisite in her royal blue gown as she had appeared in her modest attire of thin white fabric.

Gods, she appeared ethereal and where the Queen’s shoes clicked against the floor, hers tapped, causing Steven to smile. She might be wearing a dress worth a months’ living, but she remained barefoot. He would be afraid about her catching cold; however, he rested assured that her newfound family and servants would never allow it to go as far.

Where Queen’s brown furrowed, her face lighted up impossibly at the sight of him; and Steven knew he would die a happy man. Such delight in her eyes was the greatest gift he could be given and he shall accept it and take it to afterlife.

“My King,” the Queen greeted her husband shortly, apparently confused at the scene unfolding in front of her. Steven paid her no mind as the gaze of his stunning fairy followed him, the spark in her eye fading, clouded by bewilderment. Steven’s chest tightened at the loss. “What-“

“Wait!” the Princess piped up and Gods bless, the guards halted in their steps, hesitant gazes casted upon their king in question. “What is it we have walked into?”

The King instantly fixed a smile for the newcomers, not providing an answer to the guards on how they should proceed. Who should they listen to? The King or the Princess, an unfamiliar woman put on a pedestal?

“Oh, simply a little quarrel, dear sister. Worry not your pretty head.”

Steven grinded his teeth at the patronizing approach.

She was not a child; and naïve she might be, untrained in the procedures of the court, but feeble-minded she was not. She might have not grown up around ordinary men, but her eyes displayed wit and understanding of human nature deeper than of several people Steven had encountered.

Her gaze flickered between the King, the Queen and Steven and her face lost any resemblance of a smile for a moment long enough to bring sorrow to everyone present. Her eyes lingered on Steven the longest and while aware he should not, he basked in her softened expression, his chest heaving in pride.

A brief smile passed her lips as she turned to her brother, her long eyelashes fluttering. Steven couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She was a dream coming to life.

“A little quarrel? Then surely it can be solved without such violent behaviour, without handling a man, _who brought me home,_ with brute force,” she said, innocence incarnated.

Her gaze flickered to Steven again, a spark of emotion he couldn’t hope to unravel in them.

King Anthony wavered, silent for a moment as expectant gazes of his wife and his sister were casted upon him. Pretending to be mollified by his sister’s remark, he beckoned to his Guard to release Steven; much to Steven’s surprise.

Upon that action, his _brilliant_ fairy smiled brightly, her fingers getting a hold of her skirts to get it out of her way, scampering to Steven as the guards took a step back. And Steven truly could die a happy man at such gesture, feeling blessed. She chose to grace him with her attention; _him,_ not the King, her brother.

Against his will, a smile formed on his lips, all ache disappearing from his chest, his knees, his roughly handled wrists. Her whole demeanour glowed with sincerity as she came to a stop only a step from him, her head tilted back a fraction as he stood taller above her.

From the corner of his eye, Steven could see the King stiffen, his hands balled in fists. Steven paid him little attention; how could he do any different with the breath-taking woman so close to him, looking up at his face with her full lips curled up in an inviting smile, eyes mesmerizing as always?

“You are not to walk barefoot,” he remarked, quickly catching himself and in hope to maintain at least some etiquette, he took one painful step back, bowing to her, _“Your Highness.”_

The grind of King’s teeth could be heard as Steven spoke up without permission. In all honesty, Steven had no care in the world. If he was to die, he might as well walk through paradise before meeting his end.

“Whatever has happened to ‘fairy mine?’” she questioned sweetly, eyes full of wonder, the corners of her lips losing its happy curve.

In another world, a world outside the lovebirds’ little universe, the King was searing, nothing but a growl coming deeply from his chest. Queen Virginia laid a soothing hand over his heart, scolding him by one single look for his barbarian ways.

In his own paradise, Steven’s heart pounded and swelled, touched by his fairy’s hopeful question. He cleared his throat as a lump grew in it, torn between the need wrap her in his love and keeping his head on his shoulders rather than have it cut off.

As much as he was in her favour, surely the King would hate him should he as much as attempt to court her.

“It is not proper, Your Highness. I should have not-“

“But you should, Steven!” she whispered feverishly, her tender hands cupping his face, tears turning her eyes glassy. Steven’s breath hitched, his insides twisting painfully. “Or do you not feel for me what you have felt before?”

The very moment, Steven realized he could not care less about being a fool as long as he would be a fool for her. His shoulders hunching, he bended down to meet his beauty’s gaze properly, his palm covering the back of her hand on him, caressing affectionately.

“Oh, sweetness, _fairy mine,_ I shall cherish you for as long as I live,” he declared. _Which might not be too long,_ he thought, considering the King fuming as he watched them, prepared to tell the guards to pierce Steven’s heart with a sword right here and now, apparently. 

However, the beautiful smile reappeared, a single tear rolling down her cheek as one of her hands slipped lower to rest against his chest, feeling his heart hammering no doubt.

“Then I shall hope you will live long…” she whispered, inching away to look at the King with undying hope indeed. “Shall I not, brother mine?”

Oh, feeble-minded she was not and she very much _did_ understand what she had walked into.

If Steven was bold enough to read anything into her actions, her gestures, her affection, he would believe she carried him in her heart, in her mind as much as he had been in his and truly-- when had he deserved such blessing?

“Oh, for Gods’ sake! You want to keep him?!” the King demanded, exasperated as he was aware his question was nothing short of pointless for her favour was evident.

“Keep him? In my heart? Oh, how I wish for it, brother dear!”

The King shuddered at the addressing, moved by her voice holding such joy and wistfulness. Oh, how she had him wrapped around her finger! Her persona was as enchanting as the night Steven had encountered her; a human and yet a fairy, her charms stronger than the magic of the forest creatures who could only wish to match its power!

“Husband. Anthony…” the Queen chimed in, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. “Do you not recall your father’s disapproval? Fond of your choice was he not. Not fond of _me_ in the slightest.”

“For he was a fool,” the King scoffed, meeting his wife’s gaze.

“Then do not be the same fool,” she retorted and despite himself, Steven couldn’t stop the corners of his lips twitching, more so when the King _pouted_ at his wife’s remark.

Peace in his mind, recognizing his head was not to be chopped off in the near future, Steven feasted his eyes on the stunning fairy, her touch still soft on his cheeks, her smile illuminating the Royal Hall, nothing but pure love as she gazed up at him.

The King grumbled something incomprehensible, sighed and finally gave his approval.

The Princess’ laughter rang loud and joyful as she dropped her hands from Steven’s face in order to run to her brother, assaulting him with a fierce hug which caused the King to stumble backwards.

“Thank you, brother! Thank you! I would have come back to the woods should you not-“

“Whoa, whoa! No woods, you stay right here, even if it’s with this fo-“

“I am so happy, brother mine!” Her kiss smacked on the King’s cheek, his sudden panic resolving, an actual blush colouring his face, much to Queen Virginia’s amusement.

“Alright, alright, no need to smooch me, young lady-“

While was the King in fact _basking_ in the affection from his long-lost sister despite his words demanding restraint, his eyes met with Steven’s. And for the briefest of moments, they shared a deep understanding; a similar knowledge of what was of the highest import.

As long it would make her happy, they would do anything. Even put up with each other’s presence.

Without a warning, the Princess left her brother’s embrace again and rushed back to Steven’s arms. Worrying not for being scolded and _executed_ anymore, he smiled at her widely and welcomed her, hands locked on the back of her thighs, lifting her from the floor so she towered over him for once.

Awed at the heights she found herself in, she bent down to Steven’s face, her lips brushing his, loving and euphoric; her kiss sealed the deal and their happy beginning. 

No one – not the grumbling King or his Queen, not the delighted Princess Fairy or her beloved, let alone the still perplexed members of the King’s Guard – noticed the gust of wind dashing through the Royal Hall and the silent click of the door.

In a ramshackle house at the edge of the town, Wanda smiled when her brother brought her the joyful news and her fingers brushed the powerful pendent, a gift from her Mother, once more resting heavy on her chest.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it got away from me, AGAIN, and more than usual. Sorry? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> I hope you had not been repulsed by the possibly crappy and totally mixed up representation of old religions, then again I think all is fair in a fairy tale AU *grins innocently*. Also, sorry if the language sounds weird; I tried.
> 
> I thank you all, who have made it to this very end. Any feedback is always appreciated ;)


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